


suit and tie

by exley



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Bespoke Suits, Dressing Rooms, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exley/pseuds/exley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin tries to teach Roxy a thing or two about clothes, and Roxy teaches Merlin a thing or two about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	suit and tie

" _Love is swingin' in the air tonight,_

_let me show you a few things_

_let me show you a few things_

_show you a few things about love_."

-Justin Timberlake

When it comes time for Roxy to get fitted for her uniform, Merlin is the one to take her out.

She's excited for it (who wouldn't be, having a bespoke suit made especially for you?), but slightly apprehensive. Only slightly.

Roxy would often look at Merlin when he wasn't paying attention, taking note of his stature and his undoubtedly handsome profile; she was a spy, for god's sake, observation was her stock in trade. She could think her coworker was handsome, couldn't she? As long as it didn't interfere with the work. Roxy is nothing if not professional.

 

When the day comes, Eggsy threatens to tag along; she shuts him down with a glare that withers. In response, he cheerfully kisses her cheek and tells her to have fun, and to never match your garrote to your pocket square (she tells him to hush). Merlin gives her directions via text message to the iPhone he had jailbroken especially for her, and she chooses a beautiful spring day to meet him there. If she spends a little more time on her makeup before meeting him, she doesn't notice.

She reaches the Kingsman storefront on Savile Row, and sees Merlin speaking to the proprietor of the establishment (Jonathan from Human Resources). When she walks inside she sees him turn to look at her, and his face takes on the same carefully studied look he always seems to save for her. It's as though she is a particularly sticky computer program he needs to sort out, and while it's not particularly flattering, it's Merlin all the same.

She smiles at Merlin and Jonathan, and asks which fitting room it would be today. They enter dressing room 3, and Roxy studies the room full of gear with a critical eye. This would be no more than another test, and she was well-acquainted with tests. It was as if she'd been tested all her life, and it never seemed to end. Merlin sighs heavily from behind her.

"We'll start with the technology, though if you're anything like Eggsy, you'll want to look at weapons first. I've taken careful measure on your abilities, and have specialized your accessories accordingly."

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, and he clears his throat and looks more formidable than ever.

"Many of the devices here have been altered to suit a Kingsman's needs. You may send messages over a secure line, and set the device to self-destruct if need be."

"My, Merlin," she says, looking at him with a practiced half-smile. "I appreciate the Mission:Impossible reference."

To her great surprise, he gives her a sort of lopsided smirk, though his eyes remain remote. "I will admit, fiction is the proverbial broken clock that's right twice."

She laughs, and he looks (could it be?) almost flustered at her amusement. He turns away to open a discreet drawer, and she looks over with fascination. "Your weapon scores were impeccable, and I took the liberty of looking into your file and taking stock of your previous talents. You fence, do you not?"

"Ever since I was little," she supplies, trying to sound as collected as possible. Fencing was one of her passions, and was the only "unladylike" activity that her mother would ever let her indulge in. It was one of the few things she shared with her late father, and she made a point to refuse Olympic training because she knew it would spoil her love of the sport.

Merlin nods, and her mouth falls open when he produces a beautiful silver rapier, with a perforated handle with an intricate design. The sword is slim and well-made, but even from her vantage point she can see how deadly it was. Merlin is staring at her, as if gauging her response.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, and she reaches to touch the hilt. Merlin hands it to her, cradling the blade with a gentlemanly care she has come to expect from him.

"It's made for a lefthanded swordsman," he says, and she grips the sword with her dominant hand. "I could have it further specialized, if needed."

There's a beat of silence, and she and Merlin stare at each other. Merlin's brow is creased, and she's not sure what to make of the moment. Was Merlin offering her a gift?

"Thank you," she says softly. She places the sword gently back in its drawer, almost sorry to do so. "I've never held anything so fine in my life, actually."

Merlin clears his throat, and begins to show her the rest of the armory (her gaze snags on some of the more exotic weapons, like the meteor hammer, and the double-bladed throwing axe), and it's time for her suit fitting. Merlin coughs delicately as they walk to the main showroom, and gestures to the other fitting room.

"As you know, a Kingsman suit is made of stronger stuff than your average suit," he reminds her. "I'll be out here if you need assistance."

She blinks at him, and walks into the fitting room alone. Once alone, she begins to take inventory.

Merlin had had a rapier made for her. That was kind, and awfully generous. But it was also odd; she didn't think he had any reason to give her any special treatment. After all, he always gave her that _look,_ that slightly confused look that made him look even more like an elegant bird of prey than usual.

She unlocks the fitting room door and strides out, smiling broadly, and is rewarded with Merlin's wrinkled brow. 

"Your sleeves," he says, looking pointedly at her arms. "You'll need proper cufflinks, I left a pair on the stand in there."

"Yes, but I like rolling my sleeves," she says brightly, looking down at herself. "Gives me more room to move, and is business-casual at the very least."

"And you haven't tried on your jacket." Merlin looks stern. "You'll need to unroll those sleeves if you want your jacket to fit properly."

Roxy is undaunted. "Perhaps a suit isn't for me," she says, padding barefoot back into the dressing room. "Maybe I'll need a sheath dress or something like it."

She's shocked when he follows her into the dressing room, a frown on his face as he examines the cufflinks. "These cufflinks function as a discreet container for storing poisons. They are part of the Kingsman uniform."

She studies the cufflinks, and is surprised to see that they are shaped like little poodles. "Did you pick these out for me?"

He scowls at her, and she just smiles, so brightly that her cheeks hurt. "Thank you, Merlin. For everything."

Here's the thing about Roxy: she is always straightforward, and always has her eyes on the prize. It's what made her Lancelot, of course. And she knew from her years of becoming a proper little lady, she knew to always reward kindness with kindness. Let Merlin woo her with gifts. She was always more action-oriented, if she did say so herself.

Before he can say another word, she pecks him on the mouth, like a postage stamp. "Silly man," she says, smiling up at him. "Never tell a woman how to wear her clothes."

He stares at her for a couple of beats, and then he attacks her, kissing her fiercely. She yanks his neatly tucked-in shirt out of his trousers and presses her fingers to his skin; so warm. When they break for air, she kisses his jaw, and he pants as if he's on fire. He plucks the buttons of her blouse, and seems to hesitate when it comes time to open her shirt.

She looks up at him and grins, and takes his hands and puts them to her breasts. She likes the feel of his large, calloused hands on her smooth skin, and her nipples respond immediately to the friction. His hands circle her back and busy themselves with undoing her bra, unhooking the clasp like a champion.

"Jonathan's still out there," he murmurs, his eyes burning down at her. "He'll hear."

"Then I suppose we should make it quick, then," she says, and he backs her into the wall, wrenching up her tweed pencil skirt. His eyes never leave hers as he trails his fingers up her inner thigh, and finds her clit through her underwear. She squirms; the awkwardness of her position is  _unbearable_ , she wants to rip off her skirt and ride him. She mewls like a cat and grinds her hips into his fingers, which are ever-attentive.

She gasps as his fingers slip inside her, and he kisses her again, hard and hot. He establishes a rhythm with his fingers as he bites her lip, and she rides her orgasm out easily.

His face is flushed; she sees his growing bulge in his trousers. She pulls off his belt, says "Let me, darling," and busies herself with opening his zip and putting her hand inside his boxers.

She feels his length (he takes in a breath as she touches him) and begins an agonizingly slow rhythm. Slowly and tenderly, she presses a kiss to his head, and his cock jumps in her hand. This is how she goes about it, licking and kissing and stroking, until he comes onto her wrist. He sighs disapprovingly when she wipes it on her blouse.

"That blouse costs 500 quid. Have some respect."

"If you're going to reprimand me, I shan't do this again."

"Please," he growls longingly, and her heart leaps. "Let this happen again."

And when they kiss, all languid tongues and nips, she thinks, _As far as tests go, this one wasn't too bad_.


End file.
